CHAPTER 13

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The crisp mountain air nipped at Vivienne's cheeks as she stood on the balcony, gazing out at the snow-capped peaks surrounding the grand estate. Her fingers traced the intricate carvings on the stone railing, a frown creasing her brow.

"My dear, you'll catch your death out here."

A deep, resonant voice startled her from her reverie. She turned to find a tall, distinguished man with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing blue eyes watching her with concern.

"I... I'm sorry, I was just..." Vivienne trailed off, unsure how to explain the void where her memories should be.

The man's expression softened as he approached, draping a thick fur stole around her shoulders. "No need to apologise, Amelia. I understand these past few days have been... difficult."

Amelia. The name felt foreign on her tongue, yet this man spoke it with such familiarity. She searched his face, desperate for a flicker of recognition.

"You still don't remember me, do you?" he asked gently.

Vivienne's chest tightened with guilt. "I'm trying, I truly am. But everything before waking up in that village is just... blank."

The man – Count Valmor, as he'd introduced himself – nodded solemnly. "The doctor warned us this might happen. Your fall was quite severe."

"My fall?"

"Yes, darling. You were out riding when your horse was spooked by a wolf. You were thrown and hit your head on a rock." His hand ghosted over the bandage on her temple. "We feared we might lose you."

Vivienne's fingers instinctively reached for the wound. "How long ago was this?"

"Nearly a week now. We brought you back here to recover." He gestured to the opulent manor behind them. "To our home."

Our home. The words should have brought comfort, but instead, they left Vivienne feeling hollow.

"Come," Count Valmor said, offering his arm. "Let's get you inside where it's warm. Perhaps a tour will jog your memory."

Vivienne hesitated before accepting his arm. As they walked through gilded hallways adorned with priceless art, she found herself studying the Count's profile. He was undeniably handsome, with aristocratic features and an air of quiet authority.

"This is the music room," he announced, pushing open an ornate door. "You spend countless hours here at your piano."

Vivienne's gaze was drawn to the gleaming black grand piano dominating the centre of the room. Her fingers itched to touch the keys, a spark of familiarity igniting within her.

"May I?" she asked hesitantly.

The Count's face lit up. "Of course! It would do my heart good to hear you play again."

Vivienne settled onto the bench, her hands hovering uncertainty over the ivory keys. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her fingers fall.

A haunting melody filled the air, one she didn't recognize but somehow knew by heart. The music flowed through her, bittersweet and yearning. When the final notes faded, she opened her eyes to find the Count watching her with tears glistening in his eyes.

"That was beautiful, my love," he whispered. "You've always had such a gift."

Vivienne's chest constricted. "I... I don't know where that came from."

"Perhaps your body remembers what your mind cannot," the Count mused. He approached, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Give it time, Amelia. Your memories will return."

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